


Baking Up a Storm

by ThexInvisiblexGirl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThexInvisiblexGirl/pseuds/ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: When Scully misses a work meeting, Mulder arrives at her place in a panic and finds himself in a rather unusual situation. Fluff ensues. Takes place early in Season 7.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 116





	1. Part I - Mulder

Working on a weekend wasn't a big deal for him. He didn't have anything better to do, to be honest. On some weekends he'd drive to visit his mom, but for the most part he was on his own. Usually he let Scully be on weekends, trying to allow her as much space as she'd desired, and even though he missed their intellectual sparring and pretty much counted the hours until Monday, he respected her need to have some time to herself, away from the darkness of their work, away from him. Well, that and the fact that at some point she had always called him to ask if he wanted to have a bite to eat, catch a movie, or get a drink. It seemed to happen more frequently recently, just a month or so after New Year; when he kissed her, and she let him, and the world didn't end.

This Saturday was different, though; it had to be all about work. They had a high-profile meeting due first thing Monday morning, and it was essential they were well-prepared. They'd been working tirelessly throughout the week, not pulling all-nighters but coming rather close. Usually he had a rather high tolerance for these things, but this time around he was exhausted, and was itching to put the meeting behind him. He could already imagine the drink he would offer to buy Scully afterwards as a thank you for her help. It was certainly something to look forward to.

They had set to meet at his place at half passed nine, and he woke up early so he could tidy up and do some laundry before she showed up, both tasks long overdue. On the way to the dry cleaner he popped into a bakery for a few bagels, and bought orange juice and her favorite cream cheese as an afterthought. He figured that if she was forced to work on an ungodly hour on a weekend, the least he could do was offer her a decent breakfast rather than the stale cereal that was wasting away above his fridge.

However, nine thirty came and went, and Scully didn't appear. He wasn't worried at first. Sure, it wasn't like her to be late, but he was sure she had her reasons. Maybe she'd overslept, which wouldn't surprise him, given that it was around eleven when they left the office the previous evening. He couldn't resent her if that was the case; he nearly threw the alarm clock against the opposite wall when it went off that morning. So he helped himself to breakfast, telling himself she probably wouldn't mind, and that she'd join him as soon as she arrived.

At five to ten, he was getting a bit antsy. After seven years together, it would be foolish to ignore his instincts, and he couldn't shake the pressing feeling that something was wrong. Scully didn't show up, nor did she call about some delay or other. By now she was almost half an hour late, and wasn't answering her phone. He tried her on her cell phone, and got her answering service. He tried not to panic, although he could feel it bubbling to the surface, making his blood boil. It was Saturday morning, what were the odds that she was in some sort of danger? Most criminals operated at nighttime.

Well, unless that was exactly the case. Something might have happened during the night. She would have been home around midnight, and who knew what monsters were lurking the streets on a Friday evening? Maybe no one was around to hear her scream. Maybe she was lying there unconscious in a pool of her own blood. Maybe it was already too late and he was wasting even more time on speculations.

Leaving his case files on his coffee table (because really, what use would they be if she was dead or otherwise incapacitated?), he collected his cell phone, car keys and gun, grabbed his leather jacket, and left his apartment in a haste.

He tried her again on her phone en route, but to no avail. He tossed his phone on the passenger seat, swearing under his breath. The distance between his apartment and hers suddenly felt enormous. He tried very hard not to think, stepped on the gas pedal as hard as he dared, grabbed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white; anything to stop them from shaking. _She's fine, you're overreacting_ , he told himself over and over again, focusing on the words like a mantra. But the ominous feeling was unrelenting, settling comfortably in the pit of his stomach as he pulled into her street with a deafening screech.

He had created this whole scenario in his head, that now upon arrival he was shocked to find the place empty of police cars and ambulances. There was no police tape, no curious passersby. He noticed her car right in front of her building, but that fact did little to dissipate his dread. He locked his car and looked up. Her window was open; he could see the bright curtains moving lightly in the morning breeze. Suddenly he couldn't remember if she used to leave this window open. Did she open it, or was it due to some sinister act, like someone sneaking inside while she was sleeping? It wouldn't be the first time, he mused, as Duane Barry's image materialized. A violent chill coursed through him at the grim memory.

Well, he couldn't do this to himself. He rushed inside, taking the stairs two by two. He pulled out his gun as he dashed down the hallway towards her door. He banged on with his fist, gun drawn and at the ready in his other hand.

"Scully! Are you in there?"

He knocked on the door once more, then searched for his keys in his pocket. It was as if he had lost all control on his fingers; they were shaking as he fumbled with the spaceship-shaped key ring. Finally he was able to find her key, but just as he was about to fit it in the lock, the door tore open. Not expecting it, he stumbled backwards by the abruptness of the motion.

"Mulder?" enquired his partner, who was alive and well, albeit a bit flushed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm... not sure." He slipped the keys back in his pocket, then ran a hand through his hair, offering her a weak, sheepish grin. "What are you doing here?"

"Uhhh... I live here?"

"No, I know that. I mean... Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said slowly, looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. It was an expression he was well-familiar with. "Are _you_ okay, Mulder?"

"I... You didn't show up. I thought..." He let his voice trail, feeling foolish under her gaze. It was as though she was mentally rolling her eyes. He meant to apologize for acting so crazy, when something like comprehension flashed in her blue eyes. They widened in horror as she let out a gasp.

" _Shit!_ I completely forgot we were supposed to meet up! God, Mulder, I'm so sorry, I got distracted and..." She stopped to catch her breath, then seemed to remember they were still on her doorway. She grabbed his arm lightly and ushered him inside. "Come in."

Her apartment was warm, stifling even, despite the open window. He stripped off his jacket and laid it on her couch. "Have you overslept?" he asked her.

"I wish, I've been up for hours."

He eyed her dubiously, but was finally calm enough to take in her unkempt appearance. Her outfit was unusual at best. She had on baggy jeans and a lavender tee shirt, both of which were a far cry from the severe business suits she'd worn for work; not to mention the Keds flats that made her appear more diminutive than usual. He thought he saw streaks of white in her auburn hair. He meant to question it, but then got sidetracked as he sniffed the air; distinct, intoxicating sweetness that evaporated each and every one of his current thoughts. "What's that smell?"

"I was just getting to that," she said, still a bit breathlessly. "My mom called me early this morning in a panic. She has a big event at church tomorrow, a bake sale, and her oven broke down."

An alarm went off in the kitchen. She excused herself mid-story and he watched, mystified, as she raced to take something out of the oven. He followed her into the kitchen, which was in complete disarray. Just about every bit of vacant counter space was filled with baked goods in various stages of preparation, as well as ingredients and accessories. His concern quickly shifted into amusement as she recounted the rest of the tale. She and her mother spent the last three hours making batters, whisking cream and baking dozens of cookies and endless trays of cake, and she must have left the phone off the hook by mistake in her rush to get out of bed and get everything ready for her mother's arrival.

She shook her head, taking in the mess with a weary sigh. "I really am sorry, Mulder, it will most likely take all morning."

"It's cool, don't worry about it. How can I help?" She just stared at him in disbelief. He shrugged. "Well, I drove all the way here, I may as well be useful."

"Are you serious? I'll really appreciate it."

"Not how I thought I would spend my weekend, but sure, why not?" He looked around. Other than the constant humming of the oven, it sounded as if they were alone. "Where's your mom?"

"She went home with some of the stuff we already baked; I won't be able to fit it all here. She'll be back later." She looked around the kitchen once more, then cast him a worried glance. "What about work?"

"We can squeeze in a few hours tomorrow. If worse comes to worse, we'll get Skinner one of these cakes. It smells amazing in here and if they taste half as good as they smell, maybe we'll be forgiven for slacking." She cracked a smile, but her distraction was evident. Time seemed to be of the essence. He rubbed his hands together and grinned at her. "Well, put me to work, Agent Scully, I'm at your service."

An hour or so had flown by. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was having the time of his life. He'd never had a passion for cooking, let alone baking, but here under Scully's guidance, he was actually doing a decent job. She had put him to work alright, and he was more than happy to oblige. He put his stopwatch to good use and timed each tray that made its way into the oven, he greased pans, arranged cookie dough on trays and even did the dishes. And he was awarded with more warm smiles than he had witnessed in their seven year partnership. They moved about her kitchen as if they had done it their entire lives, as perfectly synced as if they were in the midst of an investigation.

"I never realized how much like science baking actually is," he mused as she poured coffee for both of them as they took a brief break. They were sitting at her dining table with the cakes cooling in front of them, looking strangely like a lineup. He breathed in their sweet scent, which was particularly intoxicating accompanied by the aroma of his coffee. He smiled at Scully. "I bet you're great at it."

"I'm not, actually. These were all made under strict instructions from my mom. The only reason I'm able to pull them off by myself is that I've always helped her bake, for as long as I can remember. It was sort of our thing when I was growing up, the only constant in the life a navy brat. My dad even bought us matching aprons one Christmas. And whenever a cake didn't come up right, Bill always said it was probably my fault."

"Yeah, that does sound suspiciously like your brother," he said sullenly. As if he need more reasons to loath her older brother. But he tried not to linger on that part. It wasn't every day that he was granted a behind-the-scenes glimpse into his partner's past, and he was hanging onto her every word.

"You know what was the best part about helping her, though?" she asked, erasing the image of a young Dana Scully his mind had inevitably conjured. He looked at her questionably, and she grinned conspiratorially. "Let's do some tasting."

And taste them they did. Cheesecake with a chocolate swirl, banana sponge cake, pecan cookies. Everything tasted divine. He contemplated asking her for more coffee just to have an excuse to eat some more, but he caught her glancing at the microwave clock a few times, and guessed they weren't even close to finished. No matter, really; the taste of them lingered on his tongue. It would egg him on, for the time being.

Next she asked him to put dark chocolate into a pot, then place it on a second pot filled with water, already boiling over the stove. As he was breaking the chocolate into smaller pieces, he thought about the story she had just told him. It shouldn't surprise him that her mother had been such a talented baker. It was as if she had put a bit of herself into each and every one of these delicacies. Lack of confidence overwhelmed him all of a sudden. Even if by her own admittance Scully wasn't much of a baker, she had enough experience under her belt, watching her mother all these years, whereas he was effing clueless. Suddenly he was nervous he would somehow screw up. What if the bake sale was a total bust because of his so-called help? The last thing he wanted was ruin Mrs. Scully's reputation at church.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he muttered, eyes trained on the pot. He wasn't sure what was supposed to happen, but the chocolate wasn't changing its texture. Did he misplace the instructions somehow? Was he supposed to add something to it?

Scully glanced over her shoulder at him. She was balancing an egg carton in one hand, and a few packets of butter in the other. She closed the fridge door with her foot "You're doing great," she told him, too preoccupied to notice his sudden distress.

"You don't know that. How do I know I don't burn it?"

"It's simple, Mulder, look." She was by his side in two strides. She was standing on tiptoes so she could look inside the pot. Her hand gently covered his on the wooden spoon he was still holding. It was soft and warm; he tried not to squirm. It reminded him of that night they played baseball. She didn't stand as close now as she did that night, but it was close enough for him to steal a whiff of her shampoo. She didn't keep her hand over his, but laced their fingers together until they were moving the spoon in slow, circular motions. "Just keep stirring it... Like this." Her nearness, her scent, the soft murmur of her voice, were making him dizzier with each passing second. She lifted her gleaming eyes to his, oblivious (or possibly not?) to his increasing distraction. Her lips curled up in encouragement. "See? Nothing to it."

"Easy for you to say, you've been doing this for years."

"I'm sure you can handle it," she assured him, slowly letting go of his hand. He held back a protest, but she was already across the kitchen again anyway, checking on the oven. "Just keep stirring it for a few minutes."

He did as she instructed, and to his relief the chocolate indeed began to transform. He held back a gasp, not wanting to appear ridiculous. It was like a magic trick; he almost felt like squealing. The whole situation still felt surreal beyond belief, him being there in her kitchen, helping her help her mother. And to think that just a few hours ago he was preparing himself for the worst, thinking he would get here and find her dead! Honestly, he couldn't believe himself sometimes.

"Here, try this," she said, all but shoving a cookie in his face. He blinked; he got lost in his head for a second. She seemed to realize it, for she smiled apologetically and gestured at the cookie. Still holding the wooden spoon, he leaned towards her and opened his mouth, letting her feed it to him. It was still warm; he indulged in its softness, chocolate and marshmallows oozing and exploding on his tongue. "Oh my God," he moaned, unable to help himself. It was the best thing he'd ever had, the taste of dreams and rainbows and childhood. "I feel like I'm eight years old again."

"Right?" she said, giggling. "Those are my favorite."

"Are they, really? Well, well, Miss Scully. Guess that's where you and nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle part ways," he teased her, then leaned forward for another bite. Her eyes were shooting daggers at him. She snatched the rest of the cookie from under his nose, and put the whole thing in her own mouth. "That's very mature," he sulked.

"That's what you get for making fun of me."

He couldn't allow her to have the last word, but he suddenly noticed a smudge of chocolate that remained on the side of her lips, deeming his mind completely and utterly useless. Before he could think better of it, he let go of the wooden spoon and reached out his thumb. He could literally see her sharp intake of breath, her eyes widen with surprise (or horror). Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he wiped the chocolate off her face, somehow resisting the urge to lick it off his thumb. He was sure neither of them had moved, but suddenly she was standing very close. She was wearing no makeup at all, so he got a good view of the many freckles that adorned her face like starlight. The kitchen was scalding hot all of a sudden, in a way that had nothing to do with the oven. The air was positively sizzling. If he took one step, just a tiny step forward –

Before he knew it, she launched passed him towards the stove. "The chocolate," she breathed, quickly removing the pot from underneath the fire. He was determined to get himself together, to focus on the mission ahead, but his resolve was short-lived. She dipped her pinkie inside the melted chocolate, then sucked on it. He gulped, feeling faint. It was as if she'd read his mind. "Saved," she said with a sultry curl of her lips as she leaned against the counter, looking up at him. Her eyes were smoldering. He swore he could see invitation in her stare.

"Don't I get a taste?" he heard himself ask in a voice he couldn't believe was his own. He didn't give her a chance to reply as he took that step forward, refusing to let the opportunity pass. Their eyes were burning into one another with mutual intention. He'd seen that look before a handful of times, the most recent one being the day they all but declared their love for one another on his doorstep. He wanted to do this then, but she was gone before he could, frightened by the gravity and repercussions of the moment it seemed. Well, she wasn't going anywhere now, he didn't think. He tucked a flour-covered strand behind her ear, then let his fingers trail along her temple, down her jaw, resting against her chin. She was watching him as he tilted her chin slightly upwards. Her lips parted ever so slightly. He thought he felt her hand on his stomach, just a ghost of a touch, a wordless reassurance. He leaned in closer slowly, barely daring to breathe.

"Mul – "

"Don't," he pleaded in a whisper, fearing he might actually burst into flames if he didn't just kiss her. Then he sniggered softly. "Not how I thought I would spend my weekend," he said again. Luckily, it made her chuckle as well. She nodded, and didn't offer any protest or admonition. Instead, her hand pressed slightly more decisively against his shirt as she inched forward. He could feel the warmth of her breath merging with his own; her heartbeat sounded just as crazy as his in his ears. His lips grazed hers, and the world didn't end, but came to a complete halt.

A knock came at the door just then, not loud, but sudden enough to send him three steps back with a start.

"It's my mother," said Scully, looking flustered. Her cheeks were flushed, but she was still meeting his gaze, which was encouraging.

He remained in the kitchen as she went to get the door, mostly to get his breathing under control. He found cold water in the fridge and filled a tall glass to the brim, drinking it in three gulps. He barely had time to register what had just happened as the two joined him in the kitchen. Mrs. Scully looked genuinely surprised to find him there.

"Fox! What are you doing here?" she asked, smiling warmly at him.

"A happy accident," replied Scully, laughing softly. The intensity of the moment was already beginning to wane. "He helped me quite a bit."

"I hardly did anything," he countered meekly, feeling self-conscious underneath Mrs. Scully's beaming eyes.

"You've done plenty. Honestly, Mulder, I can't thank you enough."

He tried desperately to meet Scully's eyes, to make sure they were alright, but she wasn't having it, and he didn't want to stir things up with her mother right there. So instead he stepped aside as she showed her mother what they'd been doing thus far. He busied himself by washing yet another pile of dishes, occasionally glancing at her from over his shoulder. Her mother might not pick up on her sudden giddiness, but he noted the way she was fidgeting, the frantic hint in her tone; it was easy to tell her mind wasn't in any of it. Which was comforting because he was so far gone by now that the only thing that might help him was a cold shower.

"My, you've been busy!" Mrs. Scully's eyes travelled between the dining table and the two of them. Whatever observation she'd had, though, she kept to herself. And something was clearly on her mind; it was as if she knew exactly what had transpired in her daughter's kitchen right before she arrived. "Well, I'd better get these down to my car."

"I'll get them for you, Mrs. Scully," he offered, suddenly anxious for some fresh air.

"Really, Fox, it's fine – "

"I've got it," he cut her off gently, using his most charming smile to reassure her.

"Okay, if you're sure."

It turned out it was too much for even him to handle by himself, and so Scully came downstairs with him, the two of them carrying three large bags between them, filled to the brim. Her mother stayed behind upstairs, and as it seemed she would be staying a while, he felt it was the right time for him to take off. He had definitely overstayed his welcome – it'd been nearly three hours since he knocked on Scully's door in a panic. Besides, if her mother was staying, it didn't feel right to intrude, certainly not with that unresolved tension now hanging so heavily between them. Scully didn't protest when he said it was time for him to leave, which served as confirmation that it was the right thing to do. It wasn't cowardice, he fiercely told himself; he wasn't running. It was just common sense.

It was cold out, but luckily dry. His leather jacket shielded him somewhat from the chill, but Scully didn't even grab a jacket on her way out. He wanted to offer his jacket, but she was striding forward without a word, leading the way to her mother's car. She helped him load everything in the backseat, then walked him to his own car across the street. She had her arms wrapped around herself, the chill finally getting to her. He detected goosebumps forming on her fair skin.

"So, umm, thanks again for your help," she said, suddenly bashful.

"Don't mention it. I'm just glad you aren't dead."

She laughed once, but it didn't reach her eyes. She looked lost in thought.

"What is it?"

"I..." She seemed to be having a hard time putting her thoughts into words. And now that he looked more closely, she was blushing. His curiosity was piqued, but he didn't say anything, wanting her to do this on her own time. She took a breath, then exhaled slowly and lifted her eyes to his. "I'm sorry."

"You already said it a million times. It's fine, Scully, we'll catch up on work tomorrow."

"No. I don't... I didn't mean work." He just stared at her, unsure if she meant what he thought – hoped, really – she meant. She laughed nervously, and as the pink in her cheeks deepened, he was stunned to realize he was right. "I'm sorry about my mom's rotten timing, I guess."

He shook his head dismissively, although his pulse had quickened at the implications of _rotten timing_. There was that tension again, thick and palpable. He offered a crooked grin in hope to break it. "There's always something." Be it her mother or a lethal bee, they never seemed to catch a break. "I'm sorry if I was... overstepping," he added hesitantly, hyper aware of the fact it was the first time they were addressing this type of incident outright. They were so much better at repressing them, or rather ignore them altogether.

Which is why he was taken aback when she took a step forward, grabbed a fistful of his tee shirt, and drew him closer for a kiss. Granted, a rather chaste one, but a kiss nonetheless. He let his lips caress hers for as long she would allow, their taste sweeter than any cake or cookie they had sampled earlier. It was everything that hint of a kiss in his hallways, a frenzied afterthought, could not have been. Everything the kiss on the cusp of the new millennium began to bring to the surface. It was lingering and true and filled with promise.

When they slowly pulled away, he looked down at her with wordless questions in his eyes. She merely grinned at him mischievously, her cheeks flushed in a whole different way as she looked straight at him and replied, "I'm not."

He watched her turn on her heel and return to her building, his lips burning, every inch of his body yearning for her, his mind filled with wonder.

She always kept him guessing.


	2. Part II - Mrs. Scully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to expand this little fic, and two more parts were born! This has taken me a ridiculously long time to complete, but I hope you like it still :)

More than halfway to Georgetown, she realized she had forgotten the key to Dana's place.

She only used it on emergencies or when Dana was away on a case, making a point of never using it when she knew her daughter was home, but if Dana was watching the oven as she was supposed to do, the key could come in handy. It wasn't like her to be so scatterbrained, but her head was filled with to-do lists and recipes and last-minute preparations for the bake sale the next day, that it could barely contain any other thought, however mundane. She mentally admonished herself throughout the remaining drive to Georgetown. _You're getting forgetful in old age, Margaret_ , she chided. _Memory is the first thing to go._

It took Dana some time to get the door, and when she did so, she seemed somewhat disheveled. "Sorry, Mom," she said breathlessly.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, thinking nothing of her daughter's flushed appearance. It was nothing new. Working with such close proximity to the oven for this length of time had tended to do that to Dana's nearly translucent skin. The query seemed obvious, and so she was expecting the obvious reply.

"Yeah, fine, I just... We didn't hear the door."

" _We_?" she enquired, puzzled, then noticed the familiar jacket on the couch where she was about to place her purse. She didn't know why she was surprised, really. So what if it wasn't a workday? It seemed these two were just unable to stay away from one another.

"Mulder is here," said Dana in way of explanation, but at this point it was stating the obvious. She followed her daughter to the kitchen, where Fox was emptying a glass of water. Clearly an effort to compose himself, but one that wasn't as understated as he'd probably intended. He put the glass on the counter so he could wave at her, offering a rather shy grin.

"Fox! What are you doing here?" she asked him, feeling her lips form a warm smile. She'd always had a soft spot for him, ever since their first, rather grim encounter the night Dana went missing. She didn't know much about his life outside of his work with Dana, and her daughter was reluctant to share any information, but she gathered he'd come from a rather broken house, struggling to deal with the disappearance of his sister. Given her own tight knit family, it had always made her feel for him, want to take him under her wing whenever he (and her daughter) allowed.

"A happy accident," replied Dana, letting out a soft laugh that astounded her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her daughter laugh like that. "He helped me quite a bit."

"I hardly did anything," protested Fox with his usual meekness.

"You've done plenty. Honestly, Mulder, I can't thank you enough."

Her eyes travelled between the two of them during their friendly exchange, all the while a new thought forming itself in her head, bringing every other thought to an abrupt halt.

Thank goodness she had forgotten the key to Dana's place.

A voice in the back of her head told her that what she had nearly witnessed wasn't for her eyes. She kept rambling and beaming while trying to make sense of what she had walked in on, which was arguably nothing. And yet. Fox seemed adamant on meeting Dana's eyes, and her daughter was just as persistent in avoiding him. Despite how comfortable they appeared around one another even after hours, there was also this undertone of awkwardness, as evident as the scent of baking that dominated the room.

Something was definitely going on.

She wasn't entirely sure what, but there was certain energy to the space, as if her sudden arrival had put an abrupt end to... well, something. Dana was definitely glowing underneath all that teenager-like giddiness and Fox seemed unaware of the fact he was blushing. She had found blushing endearing on men in general, but it was doubly charming in Fox's case. It softened his usually troubled features, made him look boyish, certainly younger than his years. And he sure was in a hurry to leave almost as soon as she had arrived, claiming he had overstayed his welcome and that he should leave them to it.

He gallantly offered to stock her car for her, and it soon turned out Dana would have to accompany him in order to save him the round trip back upstairs. As soon as the door closed behind them, she released the breath she didn't realize she was holding, relaxed the smile on her face. Her jaws were actually aching from faking it. The air felt much lighter, which only confirmed her speculations. She wandered aimlessly about the kitchen and living room without really knowing what she was looking for. There was nothing about the apartment to indicate they were doing anything other than baking (and they _have_ achieved quite a lot, God bless them), and yet, it was a feeling that she just couldn't shake off. Whatever it was, it had been long overdue. For a while now she had been throwing subtle hints in Dana's direction. It was so painfully obvious they were enamored with one another; obvious for everyone other than the two of them that is.

She rushed to the window as an afterthought almost. She knew it was highly unchristian of her and yet she couldn't resist raising herself on tiptoes and looking outside just as her daughter was pulling at Fox's shirt, bringing his head down for a kiss. She held back a cheer, not wanting to be caught spying, but filled with pride at her daughter for being the one to take the first step. As off-guard as the act seemed to have caught him, Fox made the best out of the situation and kissed her back immediately, which only confirmed what she had known all along. She didn't think there was a chance she was wrong exactly, but it was nice to be presented with proof of just how deeply he cared for her daughter.

By the time Dana returned upstairs, she was back in the kitchen, pretending to review the remaining ingredients on the counter, comparing them with her to-do list. She lifted her head in feign surprise as her daughter closed the door softly behind her. "Fox has left?" she asked in her most innocent tone.

Dana seemed to have a hard time looking at her as she walked into the kitchen. Her cheeks were definitely flushed. "Umm yeah."

"What was he doing here on a weekend anyway?"

"It was my fault. We were supposed to meet at his place this morning and prepare for a meeting, I sort of forgot, and he, umm..." She hesitated, as if she knew how it was going to sound. "He thought something had happened, and so he came by to check I was okay."

Of course he did. How classically Fox. "It was nice of him to stay and help you out, on his day off."

Surely Dana didn't realize how dreamy her expression turned all of a sudden, but it was impossible to miss, and so endearing on her usually tougher than tough daughter that she was tempted to point it out, but held back with all her might. "That's Mulder," Dana said softly as if that explained it, and in many ways it did.

"Is that all?" She didn't know what possessed her to actually ask it, but suddenly she was desperate for Dana to just admit it. To herself, if nothing else.

Dana eyed her suspiciously, her stance changing ever so slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, Dana. He seemed in quite a rush to leave. Almost as if I scared him off. Are you sure I haven't interrupted anything?"

" _No!_ " replied her daughter, far too quickly and decisively. Then she seemed to catch herself, and cleared her throat. "No, nothing." There was a brief pause, and then the investigator had awakened. She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "What are you implying, Mom?"

"Nothing!" She replied innocently. Two could play that game. But Dana obviously wasn't buying it, for she raised an eyebrow, looking so much like her father the sight tugged at her heart. "It's just... You've been together for so long – "

"As _partners_ ," Dana cut her off sharply, defensively.

"I'm aware," she replied gently, not wanting to upset her daughter. "But surely you noticed..." Her voice trailed off; she wasn't sure what she wanted to say, how to phrase it without having her daughter completely close off to her. She needed to tread more carefully. This was a rare opportunity to speak to Dana's heart; she mustn't ruin it. "You're so much more than just partners, Dana," she tried. That worked, sort of. She kept her gaze locked on her daughter. That dreamy expression was long gone. Her eyes were gleaming now, as if with tears. She seemed almost frightened.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Mom," she whispered, looking as helpless as a child all of a sudden.

"Oh, honey. I don't want you to say anything. Just... be open-minded."

"About what?"

There was a hint of desperation in Dana's voice. She thought of the kiss she had surreptitiously witnessed, initiated by her daughter but certainly reciprocated by the man she had loved for a long time now, whether she admitted it or not; of little moments that seemed to accumulate over the years, slowly coming together towards an inevitable resolution. It stirred something within her, a memory; tales William had told them upon his return from journeys across the seas.

"Do you remember the stories your father used to tell us?" She could tell the abrupt change of topic threw Dana off-guard, but her daughter's confusion didn't deter her. "He spoke of storms so intense, they could easily subdue even the most experienced of seamen." Until this very moment she had always regarded them as mere stories. Now they suddenly made sense to her in a new, unexpected way. She made sure she had her daughter's full attention before she spoke again. "There's a storm brewing, Dana. I sense it. It's larger than life and it may seem frightening, but you shouldn't defy it when it hits. Try to embrace it instead."

Even though Dana was enchanted by her father's stories as a child, asked William to tell them again and again and even reenacted them in his absence, she rolled her eyes skeptically now. "Mom, those were just stories. Dad always had a tendency for the dramatic. And besides, it sounds like something Melissa would say."

"You know as well as I do Melissa was usually right," she reminded her gently. Referring to her oldest daughter in past tense was still so strange; it inflicted such searing pain. She reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind the ear of her remaining daughter, their eyes locking once more. "Don't be afraid, honey. You're the bravest person I know."

This time Dana didn't try to dismiss or contradict her, didn't pretend she didn't know what she had meant. Despite the slight tremble in her chin, she held her gaze for a second, filled with wordless assurances, unshared secrets, then looked away and excused herself. A moment later she heard her bedroom door click softly shut behind her.

She leaned against the counter and let out a heavy sigh. She knew better than going after her, knocking on her door and pleading with her to come out. She knew that Dana's ire – or whatever emotion it was that made her literally shut out – was short-lived; that she would come out of there when she was ready and not a moment sooner. There was no point to even apologize. Dana would know she only had her best interest at heart.

She cut apples for another pie and arranged another batch of cookies on a tray. She was trying very hard to keep her eyes and ears away from the hallway, to just keep working. She didn't know how long it was before Dana finally returned, but suddenly she heard her soft footsteps back in the kitchen, and that was that. Her face wore a mask of composure, and she calmly asked what was left to be done as if their previous exchange had never happened. Just as she predicted.

"We're just about done, I think." She didn't want to stir things up again, but an idea struck her, wandering adamantly in her mind. One last thing to do before they could call it a day. She hesitated for another moment, then cleared her throat. "I was thinking we should bake something for Fox with the ingredients we have left, to thank him for his efforts, if that's alright with you."

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Dana flinch. She quickly snapped out of it, and slowly nodded. "That's a great idea, Mom. I know just the thing. Do we have any marshmallows left?"

* * *

When Fox called her a few days later, she panicked on impulse. It wasn't without precedent; whenever he'd called her in the past, it was to tell her Dana was hurt – or worse. So when she asked him what's wrong as soon as he identified himself, he laughed softly and apologized.

"Nothing's wrong, Mrs. Scully," he assured her.

"Oh, good," she said. The relief she felt was instant; she could literally sense it melt the chill that had already settled just underneath her skin. All of a sudden she could breathe more easily.

Now more comfortable, she asked how he was doing. Soon, though, she was out of pleasantries, and none the wiser about the reason he'd called her in the first place. She cleared her throat. "Did you want something, Fox?"

"Just... how did that bake sale go?"

The question caught her off-guard. There was some abruptness to it, as if he'd meant to say something else entirely, but changed his mind in the last second. That was odd. He was usually so eloquent and unperturbed. Thinking it was all in her head, she replied, "It was fine. A huge success actually. I can't thank you enough for your help."

"I was happy to do it." There was another pause, and now she definitely sensed it. There was something he was holding back, certain giddiness about him. An image came to mind: him leaning in for a kiss her daughter had initiated; the complete serenity on his face as he was watching her retreat inside her building. She was beginning to suspect she knew what this was all about, but didn't want to raise her hopes up. "I got the cookies you sent," he said after a long moment, again treading around what he really wanted to say.

"Just a small token of my appreciation. And Dana's," she added slyly, unable to help herself. She thought she heard him smirk. "I hope you liked them."

"They're my favorite, as I'm sure you were told."

Hearing that, she couldn't help but prod him gently. "Is that why you called? You wanted to tell me something about Dana?"

He laughed softly, as if realizing he was busted. In her mind's eye she could see him blushing, like he did at Dana's that weekend. "Sort of. I just wanted to thank you for the advice you've given her."

He said nothing further, and yet this vague statement was enough to put it all together. She held back her gasp of surprise. Did he just mean what she thought – _hoped_ – he'd meant? "Well," she said, choosing her words carefully. She didn't think he was as disinclined as Dana when it came to discussing matters of the heart (she couldn't know; it was just a hunch, really), but she didn't want to risk it. "I tell her many things. She never seems to listen."

Her observation made him laugh, as if he was well-familiar with her daughter's stubbornness. "There's a first time for everything."

They were still speaking in circle, but she was certain they were referring to the same thing, even if neither of them had addressed it directly. "Better late than never, I suppose. It's about time."

"You won't tell her I told you, will you?" he asked with certain unease. It was her turn to laugh softly. The trepidation in his voice meant he was well-familiar with Dana's wrath as well.

"Well, technically you haven't _told_ me anything, Fox."

"I suppose I haven't."

"I'm happy for you. It means a lot to me that she listened to me… about that."

"I may have left her no choice, to be honest," he quipped. He still sounded so nervous, bless him.

"Then it means a lot to me that you persisted."

"Good things come to those who wait. That's the advice _my_ mother has given me."

She didn't know much about Mrs. Mulder, and now she couldn't help but wonder if he'd confided in her about Dana, or if her advice was unrelated. It could mean anything, really, stretch as far as his never-ending search for his sister. She shook her head. It really didn't matter. There was still something she needed to tell him; something she couldn't tell her daughter without upsetting her. But she had a feeling he would get it, and so she felt at liberty to speak. "This is not the life I wished for my daughter, you know."

"I can imagine," he agreed quietly. "Sometimes I can't help but think that with everything that we've lost... This is not the life I'd wish for her, either. If we could start all over again, I'd tell her to run for her life. I did tell her a while ago. It wouldn't surprise you that she didn't listen to me."

They shared a bitter chuckle. "Dana would never have done that," she chided him gently, knowing that he knew that. "However long it's taken you to... see things differently about each other, I believe her path has led her here, Fox. As has yours. This is a turning point. And I for one can't wait to see how it all comes together."

"You and me both," he admitted timidly. "It would be quite a storm, huh?"

She smiled, knowing for sure now that her message came through. Here lay the one exception to William's stories, though, it now occurred to her. Her husband had often mentioned the malevolence of these raging storms. Having witnessed this evolving love story for the last seven years, there was nothing malevolent about it. She knew that without a shadow of a doubt. She nodded with reassurance she knew he wouldn't be able to see. "The best kind of storm."


	3. Part III - Scully

She wasn't hiding in her bedroom.

At least that's what she was adamantly telling herself in vain hope it would become convincing at some point. But of course she was, and of course it was stupid. Beyond stupid, really. What was she, twelve?

She knew exactly what her mother was trying to tell her, had been trying for a while now, this time using fables of storms and evoking the memory of her father and sister. She might as well have spelled it out for her. She honestly didn't know why it had scared her so. It was obvious to everyone, as palpable as electricity. Why was she still hesitant to just admit it? To act on it? Well, she wasn't so hesitant earlier, practically pouncing on him, but that was a rare moment of bravery. Or possibly all that sugar they had consumed. It was utterly absurd. She could easily take down perpetrators and psychopaths; somehow admitting she was head over heels in love with her partner of seven years was way more terrifying.

When she finally returned to the kitchen some time later, she pretended not to see the flash of dismay in her mother's eyes at her back-to-business approach, but she didn't comment on it, and they spent the rest of the day in relative and efficient silence. When her mother eventually left (not before pinning her with another pleading look), she felt overwhelmed by pangs of conscience. She hated feeling she was letting her mother down, especially given her well-meant intentions, but it was stronger than her, almost an instinct. Still, she'd never enjoyed being a disappointment, under any circumstances.

* * *

Early the following morning a particular sense of déjà vu inevitably washed over her. She had arrived at his place fifteen minutes ago, and yet showed no inclination to get out of her car. Even as she sat there deliberating (again, not hiding, surely; that would be ridiculous), she knew she was acting foolishly. Luckily his windows weren't facing the front of the building, because if he looked out, he would have caught her just sitting there. He wouldn't necessarily comment on it, but she knew he would be wondering, possibly find a way to blame himself in it all.

Eventually she got a grip, and found the strength to get out of the car. By then it was drizzling, and so she jogged towards the building, using her briefcase as a makeshift umbrella. Miraculously enough, the drizzle shifted into actual rain the second she stepped into the foyer. She took another breath as she waited for the elevator to arrive. Really, there was no point being so nervous, as if this place wasn't practically her home away from home for the past seven years. But yesterday's kiss along with her mother's poignant words swirled in her mind, leaving her restless and distracted.

Mulder ushered her in, looking annoyingly awake and handsome in jeans and a white tee shirt. With the exception of the previous day (he caught her unawares), she had never dressed casually in his presence if she could help it. She always had that concern, as unsubstantiated as it was, that he would not take her seriously unless she looked the part at all times. Very early on in their partnership, jeans and tee shirts were deemed out of the question; whenever she met him in whatever capacity, she took to wearing practical trousers and demure tops. This morning was no different. Although she didn't don her work clothes, she felt better prepared in black slacks and a blue cardigan, even if its color was slightly lighter than she would normally allow.

Her coat was damp as she hung it by the door – it suffered the majority of the damage. It got his attention; he asked her about the weather, as if they were _those_ people, and she replied absentmindedly. She wasn't sure what she had expected to happen. Did she think he would try to kiss her upon her arrival? Comment on the color of her cardigan, on the way it complimented the color of her eyes? Instead he prattled on, acting just like he would on any other day when she came over, as if yesterday didn't actually happen. Although this was exactly what she'd hoped for, she couldn't help but feel just a little miffed, as well.

"I made coffee," he said when small talk seemed to exhaust itself, chuckling a little as he realized this was stating the obvious, as the scent of it had already lingered deliciously in the air.

Remembering the cookies she had brought along, she handed the jar to him unceremoniously. "Good thing I brought these then," she said casually, watching as he removed the lid and peeked inside curiously. His features melted into a soft smile as he looked up at her. She shrugged. "We baked them to thank you for your help yesterday." It was her mother's idea, but seeing his reaction after tasting them (trying to keep out of her mind the way he wiped the chocolate off her face) she suggested they would bake this particular kind.

"Scully," he said in that awe-stricken voice he only used when she did something that threw him off-guard. Like initiating a theory of spontaneous human combustion or apparently bringing along cookies that reminded him of his childhood. "Well, I'll go get that coffee, make yourself at home."

She took off her boots as he wandered about the kitchen, making much more noise than necessary. She got the distinct feeling that he wasn't really sure what to do with himself now that she was there, that this was awkward for him too. There was some comfort in knowing the sentiment was mutual. The coffee table was littered with case files, and she added the ones she had brought to the pile before scooting to one end of his couch. As she folded her feet beneath her, she noticed a legal pad among the files, covered in his handwriting, scrawl-like and frantic, filled all the way to the margins. She reached for her hardcover notebook, containing her meticulously written notes, not even a word out of place. It was amusing how the two aesthetics were perfect reflections of their personalities and work methods. She smiled to herself as the observation occurred to her.

"What's funny?"

She started and blinked, realizing he'd been watching her from the entrance to the living room. There were two steaming mugs in his hands.

"Oh. Nothing really," she replied lamely as he lowered himself on the other end of the couch and made room for the mugs on the edge of the table.

Shockingly, he let the issue drop. "It's a shame about the rain. I hope it doesn't ruin the bake sale," he half said, half asked instead, and she was touched that he cared so much about something that was so important to her mother.

"They'll have it indoors, they sort of expected it."

"Good. I wouldn't want all our fine efforts to be in vain," he grinned, then reached for the jar she had placed on the couch, helping himself to a cookie. He bit into it, and his eyes all but rolled back in his head. His expression was the epitome of bliss. On Mulder it was somewhat disconcerting. "This is perfect. Thanks for thinking about me."

"Always," she replied without thinking, then caught his eyebrow raised and realized the implications of her words. She blushed and reached for her mug, as if she could somehow hide behind it. She was bracing herself for one of his infamous innuendos, but he uttered none. The way he was dodging one opportunity after another to have the last word was perplexing. She cleared her throat in vain hope it would resolve the awkwardness that now lingered heavily in the room. "Shall we get to work then?"

And then it was business as usual, as was always the case with them. Her mind was surprisingly sharp despite everything, and so was his, as they summarized and debated and compared data. They stopped for brunch at some point when it became too late for breakfast, and it was all very normal and very them. As the day wore on, the pile of case files was thinning. Only one cookie was left in the jar. He broke it in two, wordlessly offering her one half. Case files and cookies all gone, they were both spent, and the room was suddenly darker. She heard his joints pop as he leaned over to click on another lamp.

"Good work today," he praised her, then yawned. Before she knew it she was yawning too – she read someplace how contagious yawns were. It was amusing to be putting the theory to the test like that.

"We're going to nail this meeting, partner," she replied, resisting the urge to slap him a high five. She stretched her legs in front of her, flexing and pointing her feet. "Well, I'd better..." she let her voice trail. Even though she was exhausted and in a desperate need of a long, soothing bath, she was reluctant to say goodbye.

"Actually, Scully..." he started, then hesitated. It was too dim to really tell, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. "It's been a rough day and we could both use some unwinding. I was thinking we could pop outside for a bit, rent a movie, bring over something to eat?" He asked it rather than said it, his hazel eyes glimmering hopefully.

For a moment she was speechless, although she probably should have seen it coming, should have known he would have something in mind. But as disappointment began to darken his stare at her stalling, she didn't have a heart to turn him down. If she was honest with herself, she didn't _want_ to turn him down. Nonetheless, she decided to have fun with him first. "Are you asking me on a date, Mulder?" she asked, staring at him in mock-outrage. She watched amused as his eyes widened with the thought he had just committed some crucial mistake. She wasn't used to seeing him so flustered. It was actually quite becoming on him.

"What? No. _No!_ I wasn't... I just... It doesn't count as a date if we're staying indoors... is it?"

He stumbled over his own words and it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. As if she needed more reasons to fall for him. She shook her head, letting a teasing smile escape. "Relax, I'm kidding. Dinner and a movie sound perfect."

He tried to hide his sigh of relief, but if the fact he didn't even berate her for giving him a hard time over nothing was at all an indication, it was pretty obvious that he was enormously relieved.

* * *

By the time they were back at his place with Chinese takeout and a movie they had both agreed on, evening had truly fallen, and the rain outside resumed. After an intense morning it was nice to talk about anything other than work (other than the previous day too, for that matter). After dinner she made them some tea while he grabbed a sweatshirt and fetched her blanket, then set the VCR. They settled on their respective ends of the couch as the credits began to roll. She was careful not to touch him, not even with the tip of her toe. It was bad enough she had been ogling him all day; it would be good for her to practice _some_ self control.

Even though she was looking forward to watching the movie they had chosen, a smart British comedy she'd heard a lot about, she was beginning to feel sleepy. Less than halfway in, she could feel her eyelids grow heavy. She fought it for a while, until she could no longer keep her eyes open. She lay her head back and surrendered. Just for a few minutes, she told herself.

When she next resurfaced the room was dark, the VCR no longer playing, and she was lying rather than sitting on the couch with Mulder's body spooning hers. He was fast asleep, his breaths deep and even. She was feeling more and more alert by the second as the shock of their position slowly registered through her drowsiness. How did they even find themselves all entangled in one another? He was sitting on the other end of the couch! She was completely engulfed by the essence of him. She rolled onto her back; he adjusted his position ever so slightly according to her movement. His head was practically against her shoulder, his hand draped over her hip. She allowed herself a moment to just look at him, secretly enjoying the control the moment had given her. She managed to extricate one arm and lifted it to his face. Her fingers fluttered gently against his cheek, his five o'clock shadow lightly pricking her skin.

"Mulder," she murmured, "wake up."

He hummed an unintelligible reply, but soon his eyes fluttered open as he slowly took in his surroundings much like she had done. Even though he slightly pulled away from her upon waking up, somehow propping himself on his elbow in the narrow confines of the couch, they were still lying close to one another, so close that their noses were nearly touching.

"Did I fall asleep?" he rasped, looking adorably out of it.

"We both did."

He groaned softly, but didn't make any effort to move further. Neither did she, to be honest. The warmth emanating from his body wrapped comfortingly around her, all the way to her feet. She was transfixed by his hazel eyes, still fogged with sleep, by the way his hair was all messed up. She couldn't look away. He was watching her watching him, as if trying to decipher her next move. His lips were so close, that pouty bottom lip puckering invitingly. Now that she knew what they tasted like, she just wanted more.

Instead she whispered, "I should go."

"Or you could stay," he replied nonchalantly. She gave him a look, and he shrugged. "I'll take the couch," he added, then chuckled, as if he realized himself how unconvincing it sounded given the way they were still wrapped around each other. Nonetheless he nodded in resignation, and scooted backwards a little further, allowing them both to sit up and stretch out. She got up in search of her boots, and sat on the floor to put them on. Every inch of her body protested against the sudden chill. "I know what you're doing, you know." She looked up, startled by how close his voice was. He was looking down at her wearily. "You can't keep running."

She wanted to deny it, to tell him that she wasn't running and that he didn't know anything. But it felt like the harshest lie, and she'd always found lying to him excruciating. She sighed, and took his hand as he reached out an arm to help her up. "My mom was telling me the same thing yesterday," she found herself admitting instead. His eyes widened ever so slightly, similarly surprised by her assertion. He didn't say anything, just looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "She said there was a storm coming; that I should face it headfirst instead of trying to defy it, like I always seem to do."

They were facing one another, and the air was sizzling, just like it did the other day in her kitchen. Somehow in the semi darkness it was much more intense. She could tell the implications of her mother's words weren't lost on him. Before he could comment on it, though, a flash of lightning colored the room silver for a brief moment, following by a faint rumble of a distant thunder. He chuckled, inching even closer. "I'd say the storm is already here," he said, placing his palm at the back of her neck. His warm fingers were grazing her skin; an involuntary shudder coursed through her. "I think you should listen to your mother," he murmured, leaning in.

And hell, she couldn't fight it any longer.

They both moaned on first contact. There was nothing gentle about this kiss, no more testing the waters. Almost without realizing it she was heeding to her mother's advice, all but throwing herself at him with abandon that wasn't like her, and he seemed more than willing to do the same. Before long he had her pinned against his front door as their lips collided again and again, hands wandering greedily in search of exposed skin. An explosion of sensations she couldn't remember the last time she'd experienced, if ever, overwhelmed her. There was no mistaking where this was going.

Mustering every ounce of her waning resistance she pulled away from him, just to throw her head back as his lips left a burning trail down her neck. His name escaped her lips brokenly.

"Are you sure you have to go?" he breathed hotly as he continued to nuzzle her skin.

"You're making it... exceptionally difficult," she managed, her fingers threading in his hair. He pulled away just to flash a crooked grin at her, the question lingering in his leering gaze. They stared at each other breathlessly, pulses wild, lips bruised, foreheads touching. "I can't stay," she said.

"Give me one good reason why not."

"I'll give you a great one. We have a meeting tomorrow morning..."

"Too much talking," he cut her off, leaning in again. She pressed a finger to his lips to stop him.

"I'm serious. We can't mess it up. We can't mess _this_ up. We've come so far."

He stopped, as if to consider, but she knew he knew she was right. He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her knuckles instead. He kept his gaze on hers as he slowly let go and backed off slightly. "If this is the only reason, I get it. Otherwise... I'll be very confused."

She couldn't blame him, really. She was shamelessly flirting with him during their impromptu baking session the other day, not to mention kissing him, and now she was giving him a hard time for suggesting she spent the night? Talk about mixed signals. And yet. They _had_ come too far to mess it all up now. She wouldn't allow it. If this was the next step (and it certainly felt like it), she was determined to do this right. She took a deep, centering breath. "Why don't we see how the meeting goes tomorrow, then celebrate over dinner?"

Understanding flickered in his stare; he cocked his eyebrow at her. "A proper dinner? Like, outdoors, in a place where a reservation is required?" She nodded wordlessly, heart pounding. His lips curled mischievously. "Sounds a lot like a date to me, Scully."

"As you've certainly established earlier," she couldn't help but tease him; it was worth it when he actually blushed. Her smile widened an inch. "Is there a problem with that?" she added, and despite the tone of the exchange, just for a hint of a moment, insecurity conquered determination.

"Not a single one," he replied without releasing her eyes.

"Good," she nodded, relieved. She poked his chest gently. "But you must promise to behave, Mulder. No funny business until we get this meeting over with. We can't afford any distractions."

He chuckled darkly. "I'd say that ship has sailed long ago, Starbuck."

Somewhat satisfied with getting her way (but at the same time wanting nothing more than him carrying her to his bedroom and repercussions be damned), she walked passed him to find her coat. Before she managed to put it on he took it from her, wordlessly holding it up for her to put her arms through the sleeves. Then they just looked at one another, suddenly shy.

"Well, that was an interesting weekend," he quipped, and she couldn't help but smile. Interesting was one way to put it. He cleared his throat, then cast a glance at the coffee table, where their paperwork was now organized rather nicely. "So... I'll bring our notes, you'll bring coffee? Maybe more cookies if you're hiding some in your apartment?"

"It's a deal, partner," she said timidly, her mother's words echoing in her ears. _You're so much more than just partners, Dana_.

A few _get some rest_ s and _see you tomorrow_ s later (which further reminded her of how awful at this sort of small talk they were), she could stall it no longer. It was time to go. He beat her to the door, already unlocking it for her. He was in no hurry to open it though, as reluctant for her to leave as she was about returning to her empty apartment. Their eyes were having an entire conversation without uttering a single word. Then he leaned in, gently pressing his lips to hers. It was arguably nothing compared to the kisses they had just shared, and yet it was everything. Before she could even kiss him back, he was already gone, smiling softly at her. "Good night, Scully."

His reaction took her off-guard, but only for a moment. She nodded slowly, returning his smile. "Good night, Mulder."

She wasn't hiding in her car.

Even if that were the case, there was nothing left to hide from. It felt as if every truth had already been shared between them, one way or another. She just needed a moment to get herself together, to pause and reflect, to make sense of it all. The raging storm outside appropriately reflected the storm inside her own heart, one she didn't shy away from, but rather embraced, longed for. There was no reason to be afraid. They would brave it together. As always, they would have each other's backs.

Finally, she put the car in drive and left, her head filled with thoughts of what was to come. They only needed to keep their wits about them for a few more hours, until the meeting was behind them. And then... Her lips curled in a coy smile at the endless possibilities the future held. For once it wasn't fear that fizzed inside her, but anticipation. Then it was time to see this through. At last.


End file.
